


Shattered Gems

by AliceGlass_720



Category: N/A - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceGlass_720/pseuds/AliceGlass_720
Kudos: 1





	Shattered Gems

“Lavender, look who just walked in.” Eslira snickered under her breath, lipstick held taut in her hand. Lavender glanced up. As always, the woman wore too much red on her lips, more often than not resulting in cracking. Still, Eslira was just as good a spotter for tasteful banter as anyone. Lavender turned obligingly to the front entrance, and it took less than a second for her to see the awful display of what might have been an attempt at a homemade dress.  
“Well well, look what we have here. Loretta Willows; fashionably late as always, and not in the slightest palpable way. She’s managed to grace our presence with the compound of orange and yellow this evening.” She swirled the red drink in her hand, giving a smile. “I have to commend her though. Since she’s managed to do the impossible and do worse in her choice of attire compared to last year. Bravo Loretta.”  
Eslira made an almost chittering noise, holding back a large bout of laughter. “Oh, Lavender, you are bad.”  
“That quip was hardly worthy of praise, Lira. I’m merely pointing out the obvious. Now, if I were to be insulting, I would comment on how remarkable it is that anyone here is still alive. All those who stand within five feet of Mr. Willows are sure to be knocked to the ground by the potency of his halitosis and therefore Loretta would give the same fate, having to be the unfortunate one to kiss the man. Heaven only knows how she’s survived that.” She almost felt bad for the woman. Eslira was back to chattering.  
Having downed her drink she called for another and the bartender set down another chilled red glass to her side.  
“Could I offer temptation?”  
It was a voice that she recognized; Cecil Larson. A handsome man in his late fifties who once owned an esteemed resort. He was retired now but still showed up to the Expos. A glass was held to her in the form of an offering, and it was filled with a drink she usually enjoyed. The gesture, no small measure, coaxed a curious smile from her. The man always treated everyone like that ‘old friend.’ He was never malicious, and she would know; being the proclaimed gossiper. And Lavender was a gossiper.  
“Cecil, you shouldn’t have.” Lavender took the stem in hand. The rim met her lips and she sipped it sweetly. “But, what would this entail?”  
“No trick ma’am that’s for sure,” Cecil said, raising his hands in front of him. The golden cufflinks on his suit gleamed in the light and it matched his growing smile. “But since you mentioned it, if you would do an old entrepreneur a favor, I would appreciate a dance.”  
Eslira nudged her with her shoulder, encouraging. Lavender held back her tongue, seeing the assuming nature behind the expression. One dance meant nothing, especially with a man who was two decades older than her, but truth be told she was glad someone asked. Cecil was one of the only men who she would allow to dance with her.  
Her husband, though soon-to-be Ex, was around somewhere. She didn’t care to know where, and she was positive the feeling was mutual. 

She went back to the bar counter after the song ended. Eslira had wisely parted, and Lavender’s red wine still laid against the table. She sat at the smooth red bar stool and twirled the stem in her fingers, eyeing it carefully, and contemplating herself. The fuzzy feeling wasn’t on her yet, but her head seemed heavy. The urge to drown herself in drink would begin if she wasn’t careful. Tonight is a ‘clear night,’ Lavender. She reminded herself. Clear nights and fogged nights were her salvation to keeping sane.  
Adjusting her flowing emerald skirt she sat down at the circular bar stool, letting the cut seam expose her crossed legs, and considered the liquid in the glass. She tilted her head. Every woman knew never to leave a drink unattended. Even at the Expos, unfortunate things happened. There would always be ruthless people that wanted to prey upon others for mere ‘fun,’ it was both sickening and concerning.  
Staring at the sloshing redness, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, she raised her gaze and glanced back around the platform. Something wasn’t right.  
Brow narrowed, Lavender stuck her index finger into the drink, going just past the first knuckle and then removed it. She peered at the polish on her nails. The purple sheen faded into black almost instantly, and she gritted her teeth as a flash of anger warmed her. Narcotics. And it was a powerful one. She scanned the ballroom again. There were no eyes on her at the moment, not even in the background, but there wouldn’t be so long as she was looking.  
Someone was after her.  
Well, she wasn’t about to let anything happen. No one messed with Lavender Renshaw and got away with it. If they wanted a show, they would get one. She would draw the perpetrator out like an insect to light.  
Grabbing her purse she carefully put part of the drink into her empty water bottle. Evidence might be needed later after what she would do. 

The glass fell, shattering at the floor and spilling red as though it were blood, leaving behind the echo that stilled a conversation.  
The small crowd around her broke off communication and turned to the commotion. Just what she wanted.  
“Oh, I’m such a clutz tonight,” she groaned, putting her hand to her breast, “will someone get some towels, please?”  
A few of the catering staff members quickly came to clean up the area.  
Lavender slowly walked away, wiping her mouth promptly as if she just downed part of the drink. Her eyes were kept low and she stayed aware of any steps that came her way.  
“Are you alright?” It was the bartender that asked. The drinks were never extremely hard alcohol, but he considered her. It had been her fourth glass after all.  
“Yes. Fine. I’m just--” she walked a little slower now, “just going to get some air. If my husband asks, inform him.”  
“Yes ma’am.”  
He came over the counter this time, and she felt a small spark of anxiety tickle her fingertips. She must have been doing a good job faking the effects, for he said something chilling, “I’ll lead you out.”  
She said nothing and held down the spike of panic rising in her chest.  
They made their way to the entrance. Everyone was back into the flow of conversation and banter, no one looked at her. Then she felt his arm smoothly reach into hers, holding it, like he was supporting her. And then he moved her and led them to the side. No one spared her a glance.  
She kept her composure, letting her feet step one after the other. The world suddenly turned slower on its axis. Judging from the pattern of the floor changing; now dark wood instead of tile, the pair were walking to the conference rooms of the office building. The click of the lock sounded like a horn in Lavender’s ears.  
The room was empty, dark, and almost haunting. But she didn’t let it phase her. Her mind was focused on the scumbag that had the audacity to sneak her away. He didn’t know that it was him that was in a bad situation. Self-defense was also something granted from the pleasure of wealth.  
“Oh, did I...did I drop something?” She spoke slowly, slurring her words a little; allowing him to ascertain that she had been drugged.  
“No ma’am.” He was behind her now. The front of his buttoned shirt was felt against her exposed back. She felt hands come to her wrist, gripping. Then his voice turned menacing, like nails against a chalkboard. “But you will drop your skirt.”  
Lavender dropped the act. When he turned her around she yanked her wrists from his hold, the grip hadn’t been tight enough to seize her. Quickly balling her fist she threw a hard blow to the face, feeling her knuckles collided with his jaw. He staggered back, stunned. Magenta and purple colored bangs flew across her face and she threw it aside. Her hand throbbed, but she performed the blow correctly. In a fit of adrenaline, she apprehended him. With a solid throw of her leg, she dug her shoe into the back of his knee. The snake had his belt undone and fly down, and Lavender ground her teeth. He would fall, but she made sure he wouldn’t get back up. Another blow was thrown, this time between his legs and then twisting.  
The man’s groan was stifled by a yelp of pain, his brown eyes widened in horror.  
“I have two children, so you can bet I know how this thing works.” She hissed sharply, still holding him, and staring into his hurt expression.  
“If I see you try to poison me or any other woman I will personally relieve you of your manhood, and I mean that in a very literal way. Since I have no practitioner's hand I can guarantee that it would be messy. The blood loss would be severe, I’m sure, so I’d advise you to not tempt me.” It wasn’t a calculated threat but a threat nonetheless. He wouldn’t be in any bar setting except for the jailer's kind after this. The idiot had failed to know that the conference rooms were monitored. Cameras laid at each end of every room on a continuous recording that she could easily retrieve.  
Her voice might as well have been barbed wire laced with promise. By the glazed-over, petrifying fear in his eyes she had made her point known. She let him go and watched him scurry, like a whimpering dog with his tail between his legs. The door sounded with a loud ‘CLANG’ when it slammed against the wall. 

Just like that, it was over, and she felt drained.  
Lavender swallowed, though it was painfully stalled. Her throat was as dry as the desert, and she wanted nothing more than to have a large bottle of forget in her hand. She only realized then how fast her heart was pounding, threatening to burst from her chest. Stupid girl! Stupid, stupid girl! Her voice rang in her head. She stood still in the cold area, feeling her eyes grow heavy.  
The awful thing was she didn’t feel angry for what just happened. No. What made her blood boil, what hurt her soul was that she wanted her husband. The callused shell of a man who she once thought she loved. Who had an affair with another woman, and threatened to file for sole custody of their children should she even mention the word divorce. And still, she wanted his touch. It was humiliating.  
The tears fell down, leaving streams against her cheeks. Lavender shrunk back, drifting down to the floor against the wall, and wrapped her arms around herself as a sob cracked the stillness of the room. Never had she felt so alone.


End file.
